


Come back to me

by Omano



Series: Never Apart [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Codependency, Feels, Fluff and Angst, Heaven, Hell, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Fall, Sorry Not Sorry, in the Supernatural fandom we don't say I love you, we say I need you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-13
Updated: 2015-04-13
Packaged: 2018-03-22 17:51:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3738025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Omano/pseuds/Omano
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alternate/extra ending for The Apple of Your Eye.</p>
<p>As it turns out, Michael was right. He did earn a soul as he lost the last drop of his grace. Now Lucifer has to decide, after he found him and had a glimpse of his brother's afterlife, if he would give up his universe-old jealousy and greed and let Michael rest in peace.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Come back to me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hippoh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hippoh/gifts).



> When I started writing The Apple of Your Eye I wasn't sure about the ending. And if someone had been around from the moment I first entered this dark labirynth one calls the Michifer ship, there is a scene in this one that might be familiar from last summer. So I was planning on an alternate ending all along. In fact there are a few other ideas as well, but this is the last one that'll make it into words on my screen.
> 
> As it turned out, however, this isn't that much of a happy alternate ending as I'd hoped. So, enjoy drowning in another wave of feels, and don't forget to let me know if I managed to break your lil hearts again ;)
> 
> Thank you all for reading my work! You are the best!

## Come back to me

 

Disobedience, rebellion is the greatest sin, Lucifer is certain of that. So, after he managed to pick himself up from beside Michael’s lifeless, frozen body his first trip leads him back to the Kingdom of the Damned.

Before he sets out to lay low the nations he has to make sure if Michael was truly wrong. He must know if there is a soul he could claim as his own.

 

Hell is trembling in nervous anticipation as it greets its lost-Lord.

Lucifer hates every last atom of this place, the stench of burning meat, sizzling fat and gore in dirty concrete vaults. Beneath it all the rotten ground is soaking up the sins of the world, and he is disgusted.

As he tucks away his wings screams of agony quiet into terrified silence. Neither demon nor damned soul dares to wince. They all try to pretend they are one with the corrupt walls. This is not delighted illusion of the Apocalypse. They can feel it.

Eyes cold as the dead of the night Lucifer hunts all nine circles of Hell after he found nothing worthy of his time in the ill-kept records of souls passing through the threshold. When he is done with his search – and under the weight of a mighty mountain a little part of him knows that he is only stalling the inevitable – he will be pleased to wipe Hell’s self-appointed king out of existence. Incompetent, all demons are incompetent.

There are millions upon millions of souls and he wants none of them.

Eventually he circles back to where it all began.

Deep, deep down where no cry or poisonous hellfire could reach, there gapes the blown Cage. Dark, starless, wicked matter that is hard to imagine was once formed by the Divine Hand. It reminds him of Michael’s hateful eyes.

Lucifer shivers.

Despair coiling around his grace he peeks into the Black Hole. There is a small glimpse of golden-red in the deep. A glimmer of rage-laced hope sparks in his chest, but then the next second he almost tumbles over when he recognizes the pair of mutilated wing shaped scars on the fabric of nothing.

No sound can make it out his heaving breast.

 

Michael is not in Hell.

He should have known. The entire Hades would be in uproar of horror and sadistic joy if they managed to put their dirty paws on such bright and noble creature, and Lucifer would have picked up on it immediately.

But Michael was a sinner. Oh, does it hurt to refer to him as passed away! But he is, he is lost, and now Lucifer is set to look for him at the only possible places: Heaven and Hell.

Hope is poison.

Poison that makes him risk his own annihilation and put all his cunning to good use as he heads for Heaven.

Maybe their Father finally heard his curses and realized how Michael was faithful above all.

 

 

A shower of fiery rocks and feather dust, a silver drizzle of shooting stars light up the dark canvas of the sky. There is a centre, one supernova of the most beautiful light Michael has ever seen huddled up and softly sobbing.

“Lucifer,” Michael asks as he nears closer to the young archangel. “What is it?”

Now he can tell apart hands and wings and the pure innocence of his brother’s brilliant face. Lucifer sniffs and knits his brows even closer together, his lower lip is trembling ever so softly as he stubbornly goes on to tear feather after feather out of his wings.

“They hurt,” he whines with the petulance of a young fledgling.

Lucifer thinks that the pain of plucking out his own feathers and shaking the stars off the fibres is better than feeling them strain against each other in a mess. They probably fought again with Gabriel, just another childish quarrel, or maybe Raphael snapped back at her two brothers for getting at her all the time. Either way it was enough to get the delicate feathers in a tangled chaos.

“This is not how it works,” Michael says with a gentle smile.

On his own flaming wings he glides closer that now he can soak up the Morning Star’s radiance.

Lucifer glances up with awe hiding in his tear-rimmed thousand beautiful eyes.

“Let me show you, Little One.”

Immediately Lucifer scoffs and complains that he is not small. That one day he will be greater, and brighter, and stronger than Michael but the proud protest dies among the praise the tiny stars jingle under Michael’s careful fingers.

Michael has learnt on his own how to thread his hands carefully through the messed up feathers. How to untangle them without the burst of pain, and now with Lucifer, the younger angel suddenly so calm and blissed out – _dazed_ – in his lap Michael is as gentle in his ministrations as Raphael is as she models the delicate layers of clouds. Even if despite being the Protector, the Big Brother of his brethren such gentleness is not part of his nature. He sometimes just collected his courage to walk up to Father and ask if he could give him just one drop of tenderness, but every time he put up his mind he always realized how busy Father was with the act of Creation. And who is he to question Father’s judgement? He had created Michael best for his duties. It must be his fault that he cannot find a way to re-channel his abilities.

With Lucifer he tries. He tries even if it is painful so hard does he concentrate in his work. He thinks he would rather die than to inflict any pain on his little brother. Ever.

 

 

He has to move fast. Stars slur into smudged lines until their light cannot cling to his form, not even his wings glow in their smashed beauty – Lucifer is racing light itself. He is rushing down a corridor of silence, the universe blurs into oblivion at the edges like off-colour pageants from a time untouched by the Fall.

Fear drives and halts to miniscule pauses the beats of his wings. He fears when the light of the Pearly Gates will catch up with him, when the shackles will snap around his wrists and neck to pull him back down to break through the surface of Earth and smash him into the fiery depth of the Pit. The Word of banishment never expires, and Lucifer can already feel it prickling the back of his neck, like hounds panting in the tow of their prey. But even more does he fear that his attention will slip. He dreads passing by the last leaflet of Heaven and find nothing but faintly blinking mortal souls, all the billion of them that ever lived in the fear of some intangible God, but not his brother.

Then it wouldn’t matter really. Then he wouldn’t even feel his old chains tearing at his grace, weaving a crown of thorns around his forehead to mock him for his discarded diamond one. By then the last ounce of Lucifer will have blinked out of existence and Heaven would have to battle Satan, Prince of the World.

He is exhausted when he lands in a forest. Under the rich emerald leaves he hides, seeking just a breath of rest from Heaven’s twister of purge. He presses his hand to the middle of his breast and for a second he wonders if Michael had to endure such pain for the past few months, if this is what earthly pain feels like. If so he had done a rather poor work in Hell.

At least Hell is welcoming. It embraces any visitors to its brimstone bedded bosom whether they are rightful residents in the Pit or just some misguided, self-sacrificing idiot souls. Hell doesn’t kick its guests out just like that.

This forest though, this seems to be a safe haven for the moment. It feels like the cosmic storm stills around this pocket world, the howl of the wind has grown to a gentle whisper, the sunshine filtering through the leaves turn from blinding to respectful glow.

It piques Lucifer’s interest.

Time is weighing down on him, making his graceful stride sluggish, but he crawls along the narrow golden path in quiet sneering wonder if he just came across the personal Heaven of maybe John the Baptist.

After a short walk he arrives at a clearing with impossibly lush grass and topaz flowers turning their little heads toward the sun in the roots of a massive wall of lapis lazuli. Around a shimmering crystal lake there are scattered smooth rocks and on one of them sits someone so bright Lucifer has to shield his eyes from their fiery glow. He is brighter than the sun, his eyes blaze with holy fire and his smile, though soft, is blinding as he follows a silver flash of light just below the water’s surface. And when after an elegant loop that silver fish breaks to the surface where the bright creature’s feet are dangling in the water Lucifer staggers back.

His head is spinning and his vision blurs. Nauseous at the sudden tightening sensation in his chest while in the same time his heart wants to burst, he wants to cry out, but the joy, such a bizarre stranger in his world, stuns him back into bewildered silence.

The last thing he sees before the weight of his intrusion knocks him off his feet is Michael playfully whisking a few wet platinum strands from a way too bright and way too happy dream-like Lucifer’s face.

 

 

Lucifer always liked the ponds. The water was the same in Heaven and the first prototype of Eden, and he loved how the lights played on the crystal surface. He liked how it rippled under his touch and how it broke with a gentle sound when he dove into its cool velvet embrace. He loved the water’s clear gem-like looks and welcoming softness.

His big brother on the other hand always preferred basking on the warm rocks, more of a panther himself. Michael didn’t like the lakes simmering and turning into white mist when they came into contact and so he rather just dangled his feet at most in the water.

He would turn his bright face in the sunlight so much paler than his own glory, but still, from under golden rust covered eyelashes he would always keep an eye on his little brother.

When Lucifer grew tired of swimming he could always count on Michael’s gentle hands drying his wet skin, brushing red gold kisses on his forehead, and embrace the both of them in his impressive wings while they would watch the old sun sink below the horizon and watch an ever new moon climb to the peak of heavens. Lucifer would absentmindedly play with Michael’s long ebony locks and try to steal the rubies from his hair. The elder would sometimes humour him and pretend he didn’t notice.

In return Michael would brush the stars from Lucifer's forehead into his hair only to pick them out from the platinum wisps with great care. Then with a flourish flick of his wrist he would make the stars disappear for only a second later to pluck them back from the sky and laugh as Lucifer couldn't decide if he should glare or stare in awe.

Lucifer always thought he couldn’t imagine a more beautiful sound.

 

 

“Micha…”

“My Light.”

Lucifer’s eyes fly open at the soft murmur. His heart races at a crazy speed, his limbs strain like a bow ready to snap or kill, and again fear constricts his chest. He barely has the breath to press out, “No. I—I’m not. Michael.”

He is begging with tears burning on his eyelids for words he cannot say, but Michael only smiles this perfect smile that shines only in his eyes.

“You are always my Morning Star.”

On a tiny voice Lucifer protests, “I’m a _monster_.”

“You are my Light, my Pride, my Everything, my Brightest, Precious Star.”

This is Michael’s heaven – it strikes Lucifer with painful clarity. Just a moment ago he kissed a Lucifer untainted by jealousy. He must think he is smiling at a Lucifer whose greatest joy is to claim him as his big brother, a Lucifer who hasn’t betrayed him, who hasn’t tortured him, who hasn’t _killed_ him...

“I’m not… I’m not _that_ Lucifer.”

To his surprise, Michael smiles like the first sunrise after a long and particularly starless night, gentle and so beautiful.

“I know. I’m your big brother, remember? It’s my job to know.”

“But—“

Oh it makes things so much worse!

Lucifer must avert his eyes. He cannot have Michael’s affection when he knows he doesn’t deserve anything but hatred. He failed to save him so spectacularly!

This is when he realizes the silence. The roar of a mighty storm has stilled in his ears, it is only the low buzz of misplaced ache, but it doesn’t hurt any more than his heart trying to battle joy and foreign remorse at the same time.

This is when he realizes the _why_.

There is a dome of velvet, ember laced night surrounding them. Michael’s beautiful wings, a glorious sight thought lost forever.

And now, here in Heaven Michael has them back, even though not for real.

Lucifer wants to cry.

“Michael. I’m. I’m so… I’m _sorry_!”

This word has been biting the back of his tongue for such a long time. This bone-deep ache of regret, the shy desire to go back and do everything different this time. He had managed to swallow it back so many times, while he should have said it when he first saw Michael’s wings burnt on his back, when he first remembered bursting a white star on his chest, when they were sitting in a cocoon of silence and peace next to that waterfall. So, so many times he had the chance of saying he was sorry.

His throat is working around an entire flood of _I’m sorry_ ’s, but they stay imprisoned in his mouth. Saying it once didn’t make it easier to say it any more, no matter how much he wants to.

Michael combs his fingers through Lucifer’s matted hair.

“Hush. It’s not your fault.”

_It was_.

“It was,” Lucifer forces past the constriction in his throat. “I was impatient, I was jealous. I—I thought you’d, you would stop loving me for these _monsters_. I should have loved you more. I should have just loved you more.”

“However much you love me Lucifer, however little, it is all the same to me. Whether you love me, or hate me, as long as I have a place in your heart I am happy.”

Lucifer wants to snap, call him an idiot, blind and naïve and childish and most of all crazy. He wants to demand if death makes everyone stupid, but he finds he cannot. Because maybe he understands.

He might have lost track of time, but Michael was always a great liar despite whatever Lucifer has ever claimed. Above all he is a great liar to himself. In the Cage, locked up with Satan in his cruellest centuries still made Michael call him Morning Star, then it should be no wonder he is stubborn now. This little heaven he was given is the purest illusion of what perfect, bright and beautiful Lucifer his brother has once built up.

This is a time when Father’s absence isn’t a gaping hole just leaving straining outlines of the Prince. This is a time when their family is still intact, happy and together. This is a time when he shines bright and warm and doesn’t burn. This is a time he deserves. A time when he is loved. Deep in the past and far away from the present when he is dead after a torturous road of human pain.

This is a time when Lucifer worships him.

But there always is only one Lucifer. One half of the world craving for his other half.

“Michael,” Lucifer says.

He knows the words he needs in order to wrap the universe around his little finger. Three words, three and three and three oh so selfish words, and he hates himself for each and every one of them.

Michael looks at him, straight in the eyes, patient. It is adoration and absolute devotion outlaid on his features. An expression that should only belong in the throne room of God.

But Lucifer is selfish, weak and jealous and he is not above whispering each and every one of his poisonous little words, breathing them into Michael’s mouth until his chest is filled with them, until all he can think about is _I love you_ and _I need you_ and most of all _Don’t leave me_.

“Anything, Lucifer,” Michael says. “Anything you want.”

Lucifer smiles. It is watery, tear-stained, almost a painful sneer. His grace burns through his cover, and as he cups Michael’s strong jaw in his hand even the perfect skin breaks out in blisters at his tainted touch.

Of course, he could force his way back through Heaven’s simmering gates. Of course Michael wouldn’t even realize he was away. Of course Michael would deserve his peace for all the betrayal he has lived through and eventually died for. Of course Michael deserves better.

But Lucifer wants him. Him alone. Michael is his _everything_.

And so he takes it all that belongs to him.

They _cannot_ be apart.

 

 

“Come and live with me.”

 


End file.
